


zoned out

by mellowheart



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Crushes, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowheart/pseuds/mellowheart
Summary: When Thomas first arrives at the Glade, he meets a boy that’s too intriguing for him to ignore.





	zoned out

            Newt was the most attention-grabbing person Thomas had ever seen, from the moment the Box opened and he’d been spouted into a small world of groomed grass, teenage boys, and labyrinths crawling with creatures of green slime and tall blades. Alby, a tall, good looking black boy of seventeen years, pulled him out with a long rope, not looking too concerned when Thomas’ knees bumped against the sides. Then he’d realized he didn’t have single clear memory in his head, just a stack of unfocused photographs that he’d tried to flip through for days after he’d arrived, naively thinking that if he continued staring at the blur, it would sharpen into something that could help him escape all the confusion that weighed on his skull like an anvil.

            And then he was surrounded by a crowd of boys, all laughing and jeering, shouting words that were foreign to his ears; long story short, he was pulled away by Alby before he could do something like fall back into the Box, but panic racketed in his chest, overloading his senses. His limbs didn’t feel like his, the chirping of birds sounded like glass plates being shattered, and Alby’s grip felt like a red hot brand - every sound, movement, and touch felt like too much, and before he knew it, he was in a shady area under the trees; his sight cleared slowly as he opened his eyes, hesitant and careful like watercolors mixing. The trees created a small dome over him, a pattern of thick, intertwining branches with a background of swaying leaves; a minuscule gust of wind caused an oval-shaped leaf the size of his palm to break free from its home in the sky of green, a drop of paint that refused to stay on its canvas. To keep panic from creeping back in, he focused on the graceful journey the leaf too, riding the waves of the wind until it dropped onto a space of ground Thomas could not see.

_Watercolor. Paint. Canvas._ The boy scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, wondering where the hell those words had come from.

            He shuffled under the thin cotton of the blanket, and thought about getting up. Thought about staring at the cracks of baby blue sky above him and attempting to answer his own questions. Thought about falling back asleep, because he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for the answers, or the lack of answers - the thought of facing the rowdy group made blots of ache form in his temples and his heart race with anxiety. Finally, Thomas thought of forming a premature grave by sinking into the dirt, for an angel straight out of a Renaissance painting slid into his view of the canopy of trees.

            A slight frown was grooved into his features, and blond, barely curly hair rested on his forehead, impossibly clean and soft looking for the place they were in; it had to be made of georgette, or silk, or the petals of roses - something soft. The boy’s eyes, melted pennies carefully poured into the mold of his irises, made him want to remember how to write. Made him want to remember how to breathe properly, because the burning in his chest was proof enough that he wasn’t doing it right.

            “Hey Greenie,” the stranger said, sitting up a little so Thomas could see the beige fabric slightly billowing about his torso and shoulders. “You kinda freaked out back there, like a bloody deer in front of headlights.”

            His voice surprised Thomas in the best way, the accent unfamiliar to his ears; it enunciated every vowel, so gentle sounding that it made heat rise into his cheeks. Briefly, he wondered if he was in Heaven, or some other paradise you were brought into after death. He didn’t remember dying, though; if he had died, not recalling the memory wouldn’t be too much of a surprise. The only thing in his head that he could somewhat see was blue, sterile lights and scenes of a place that must’ve been a laboratory.

            “I wouldn’t get bugged over it, though,” he continued, not seeming to care that the other boy hadn’t responded. “Chuck clunked his pants when he arrived, so you falling on your arse and passing out shouldn’t be too relevant in conversation. Anyway, what’s your name? You remember it, don’t you? If you don’t, it should come back to you in a bit.”

            Thomas nodded and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration as he reached for the familiarity begging to show itself. _Remember...Remember._

            “Thomas,” he gasped as he opened his eyes again, a tsunami wave of relief passing over him, pulling him into the shallow end of remembrance. The corners other boy’s lips stretched upwards, revealing teeth in a smile that made Thomas feel like everything was okay. He ran his thin fingers through Thomas’ hair, making his eyes flutter.

            And then he introduced himself.

 

            With every day that passed, Thomas found himself noticing more things about not only himself, but Newt. Interspersed throughout his curiosities about the Maze and frustrations that not one of the boys inhabiting the Glade were giving him clear answers, thoughts about the stranger turned not-stranger tantalized him.

 

**DAY 3**

            Thomas squeezed into the doors of the Maze, his heart thumbing and his body moving purely on adrenaline; he raced towards Minho, the Runner who was dragging an unconscious Alby with a desperate look contorting his features. The crowd of teenagers in the green world he was about to leave behind yelled at the tops of their lungs for him to stop, the sound vibrating in his ears as the walls pressing in on him.

            Air slowly squeezed out his lungs, his throat croaking as he clawed at the ivy adorning the stone, helping him to push himself into the Maze for the first time. The doors shut with a shudder as he collapsed on the ground, his chest lifting and lowering with his panting breaths. His eyes were opened wide, taking in the scenery that was identical to the inside of the walls - stone covered in ivy, the small leaves unnervingly still; the stone reached so high that they disappeared into the dark sky.

            Thomas’ observations were interrupted by the collar of his shirt being grabbed roughly, and suddenly he was being shoved against the wall, Minho’s angry face the only thing he could see. He was a tall Asian boy, with thick black hair, olive toned skin, and broad shoulders that led to muscular arms; definitely one of the most attractive guys he’d seen in the Glade.

            “ _Idiot_ ,” Minho hissed, glaring harshly through the sweat that dripped down his dirty face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Thomas shook his head, swallowing around the rock of terror lodged in his throat.

            He snorted and released his shirt, fist-shaped wrinkles left behind. “Well, you should’ve listened to your little boyfriend back there, because congratulations, you’ve killed yourself.”

            The boy’s skin chilled, causing to shiver because he’d noticed what happened a few minutes ago. He’d noticed Newt, who’d lunged to pull him back, his fingers barely missing the skin of Thomas’ wrist.

 

**DAY 4**

            An hour after Thomas had escaped from the Maze with Minho and Alby, he took a nap in one of the huts. He woke up to the sound of running water, and then the splashing of the absorbed water being squeezed out. Turning around in his cot, he suddenly caught sight of Newt, who walked towards him with an emotion Thomas had never been on the receiving end of:

            Irritation.

            Newt’s eyebrows were curved inwards, creating a light crease, and his lips were pursed. He couldn’t tell if it made him want to apologize or grin, because the blond was adorable when he was angry; so instead of choosing, he did both.

            Thomas smiled a little, noticing the swing of the other’s hips as he walked over to him. Perhaps it was inappropriate to be admiring his body, but he couldn’t help himself, especially not with Newt cocking his hip to the side as he looked down at him with a disapproving look; his eyes bored into Thomas, while Thomas’ eyes noticed the graceful length of his long, thin legs. He was a skinny little thing, impressive in his height but petite in terms of his body measurements.

            The second in command wasn’t very muscular, and Thomas didn’t mind it at all. Besides, what he didn’t have in muscle, he made up for in intelligence. Not only was he one of the most attractive boys he’d ever seen, but one of the smartest boys he’d ever met. Pretty and intelligent - a dangerous combination.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. That’s when he noticed the bandages on his legs, dark red blood staining the white. He placed a hand, feeling over the one on his stomach with surprise; had Newt patched him up while he was unconscious?

            “You’re sorry?” Newt asked, a mocking lilt in his voice as he stepped in between Thomas’ legs and started to wipe the grime off his face. “What do you have to be shucking sorry about? It’s not like you ran into the Maze at night, after I specifically told you that no one had survived a night in the Maze. It’s not like the others have told you to stay away from that place a thousand times. So what do you have to be sorry for, Greenie?”

            The blond tossed the now dirty rag onto the cot when he was done, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Instead of answering, he silently laid his palms on the solid curve of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer with a confidence he hadn’t realized he had. Newt rolled his eyes, his gaze drifting to the side.

            Guilt tightened in his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

            The other boy shifted his eyes back to Thomas and stared at him for a few moments, as if gauging to see if he was being genuine. Thomas chewed on his lower lip nervously, lightly drumming his fingers on Newt’s hips. His face slowly softened, and he sighed, his shoulders shifting downwards, before leaning in and pressing his lips against the top of Thomas’ cheekbone.

            “Apology accepted, you slinthead. And besides,” Newt started with a mischievous glint in the brown of his eyes. “I like it when you cause trouble, even when it drives me buggin’ mad.”

            For the first time since he’d entered the Glade, Thomas’ face spread into a wide grin.


End file.
